She inclined her head to agree and rubbed at her wrist. Alarr gave her a trencher, and upon the bread was roasted mutton with carrots and a thick sauce. She was so hungry it took an effort to eat with good manners when she wanted to stuff it into her mouth as quickly as possible. The meat was warm and savoury, and she had never tasted anything so good. Alarr ate beside her, but she noticed that he never took his eyes off his companions. He was alert to his surroundings, fully aware of everything.
Though she’d believed he was friends with Styr and Caragh, it appeared that he could not ever be at ease. Like a man on guard, his gaze focused upon the doorway when each man entered. His body remained tense, his hand near his weapon.
The other man he’d travelled with, his brother Rurik, was dining with some of the younger warriors. Although he listened to the tales of the other men, he said nothing. Once or twice, she caught him looking at his brother, but he appeared ill at ease, even among other Lochlannach.
As she sated her hunger, Breanne followed Alarr’s example and studied each of the men and women. They were very similar to her own people, telling stories, laughing, and sharing in food. Caragh, doted upon her husband, and she reached over to touch him in small ways. There was nothing but love in every gesture, and Breanne found herself feeling envious.
No man had ever looked upon her in the same way Styr looked at Caragh. Or even with desire, as Alarr had looked at her when she’d emerged from bathing. Her skin tightened at the memory. But she could not stop the worry that no one would come for her. It had been weeks, and the isolation caused an ache deep inside her.
She had grown up among the MacPherson tribe and had believed that she was like a daughter to Feann. He had allowed her to sit beside him on the dais after his wife had died. She had cared for his sons as if they were her brothers, and now all were being fostered with other family members to strengthen tribal bonds. But now she wondered if her presence had been a burden after the death of her parents. It might be that Feann had only intended to marry her off to further his own alliances.
They don’t want you, a voice inside murmured.
She tried to push back the doubts, but it was hard to believe that anyone cared about her now. A coldness gripped her inside, the loneliness and fear taking root.
‘What is it?’ Alarr asked from beside her.
‘It’s nothing.’ She didn’t want to tell him anything, though he did appear concerned.
‘You look pale.’ He eyed her, and she met his expression without offering any answers. There was no reason for her to reveal the truth to this man. They were strangers, and she owed him nothing at all.
‘I am fine,’ she repeated.
‘No, you’re not.’ He tore off a piece of bread, still waiting.
He could wait a very long time, as far as she was concerned. Breanne glared at him. ‘If I’m not, it’s only because I am your captive. And even if you do intend to bring me home, I despise being a prisoner.’
‘I removed your bindings, did I not?’
She flushed, not really knowing how to reply. It was easier to shrug than to say anything.
‘You have nothing to fear from me, so long as you obey,’ he said.
She bristled at his command and sighed. ‘Obedience is all men ever want.’
‘For your protection,’ he said softly. But then a moment later, his gaze narrowed as if he’d just thought of something else. ‘Or is there another reason you are afraid? Was there someone you left behind who is searching for you? A husband, perhaps?’
She sobered, feeling embarrassed by his questioning. Though she hadn’t planned on saying anything, she blurted out, ‘Feann was planning to choose a husband for me. Until I was taken.’ At the time, she had been eager to wed, wanting a family and a home of her own. A true home—not a foster home where she felt like an outsider. But now, that dream had burned into ashes.
‘Was he planning to wed you to another king?’ Alarr demanded. He appeared almost displeased by the news, and beneath his tone there was a hint of jealousy. She didn’t want to imagine why. Though she had tried to remain shielded from his interest, there was no denying the heat that had sparked between them.
‘I don’t know which suitors Feann was considering.’ She took a sip of the mead and found it sweet. ‘Possibly someone favoured by King Cerball. It matters not now. No man will have me to wife anymore.’ There was no self-pity in her words—they were fact. What man would wed her after she had been held captive by a Lochlannach warrior? No one would believe her if she claimed she was untouched.
‘Was there a man you had hoped to marry?’ He tore off a piece of bread, not making eye contact with her. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon Rurik.
She could hardly believe they were conversing about her future, as if he were a friend. And yet, it was almost too easy to confess her thoughts to a stranger. What did it matter if he knew her innermost feelings? After he returned her to Feann, they would never see each other again.
And so, she admitted, ‘I was hoping for a kind man, one who has all his teeth.’ She suppressed a grimace at the thought, for it was not uncommon for young noblewomen to be married to older kings.
‘What of your parents? Wouldn’t they arrange the match instead of Feann?’
She shook her head. ‘My parents have been dead for years. Feann has been my foster father since I was two years of age. He
